This World Needs a Hero

HEL SCANS

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The next day.

In the afternoon, heavy rain poured down.

The continuous display of thunder and lightning captured the attention of passersby.

Large and heavy raindrops, along with powerful winds.

The streets turned into windows, making it difficult to go out on horseback.

“Uaaaah!”

“Hryaa!”

“Take this!”

Lonkers were noisy with untimely shouts.

It was the open space behind the self-defense force headquarters.

“Hans, I have a favor to ask.”

“Yes?”

“Gather the self-defense force members. It doesn’t have to be exclusively them. Anyone who wants to protect the village is welcome.”

“… I understand the intention, but I’m not sure if people will gather.”

“At least convey the message; I would be grateful.”

“No, I’m more thankful. Thank you, Kasim.”

As a result, about fifty people gathered.

There were self-defense force members, as well as ordinary residents.

Whenever I had time, I taught them the basics of defense formations.

Thanks to Noubelmag going to fix defensive weapons, I also asked Nyhill, who became free, to help improve their swordsmanship.

“It’s fortunate that the body doesn’t need sleep.”

It was a busy few days without a moment to spare.

Fortunately, perhaps because Hans had mentioned our skills in advance, the residents obediently followed the instructions.

It was quite comical to see a group of bulky men seriously watching a swordsmanship demonstration by a girl who was no taller than their chest, but no one was laughing.

‘At this level, the minimum safety measures have been put in place.’

The existence of reinforcements is basically confidential.

In other words, the residents were unaware that the situation had improved.

Of course, there were some individuals that gave up, but a larger number were making efforts for the village’s defense.

Their expressions showed a firm belief that their current efforts would increase the chances of survival in the imminent tragedy.

I took full advantage of their desperation.

“Rest.”

As soon as the word was spoken, everyone collapsed to the ground.

It was muddy, but there was no one who cared about it.

I glanced at them and then turned my gaze away.

‘I hope the training continues even in the future.’

Just because the stakes disappeared didn’t mean everything would be solved.

Their lives continued in this harsh place.

Danger was widespread.

There was a possibility that remnants of monsters could attack.

Bandits could invade a weakened village.

No, there was no guarantee that such situations wouldn’t occur in the first place.

It was that kind of era.

That’s why ‘self-sufficiency’ was not a choice but a necessity.

“Even if a few heroes work hard, it’s useless if the commoners can’t stand on their own.”

Taking Nyhill, who was suffering alongside me under the rain, I entered the self-defense force building.

A resting area on the first floor.

Empty beer glasses were already piling up at the window, which seemed too cramped for three people to sit.

Noubelmag, who had been looking out the window at a distance, turned his gaze in our direction.

It seemed like he was casually lounging, but I knew he had been checking the condition of the water artifacts by making a round with Nyhill and a notebook since morning.

“…It’s pouring like crazy. Leader, does it remind you of the old days?”

“The old days?”

His cheeks seemed flushed, perhaps due to drinking.

“When the Grade 8 stake was firmly driven into the ground. The damn administrator called for acid rain, and it poured like this.”

As if recalling old memories, Noubelmag’s eyes, which had been wandering through the air, shifted to Nyhill.

“That dense forest, the land, the animals, and even the armor… Acid rain that melted everything poured for over an hour. Can you imagine?”

“No, I can’t.”

With Nyhill’s concise response, Noubelmag chuckled as if it were absurd.

“…Sit down. It’s uncomfortable for people to stand all hunched like that.”

“I can’t sit until I’m given an order.”

“Nyhill, you can sit.”

“Understood.”

Nyhill sat cautiously next to me.

Noubelmag alternated between her and me with a displeased look.

“That damn order. Thanks to your order, I have to carry that girl even to the toilet.”

“It’s better than being idle.”

“Is that so?”

“Your expression seems to have brightened up quite a bit. I thought you liked Nyhill quite a bit.”

Seemingly about to say something, the old man opened his mouth, hesitated, and then closed it.

“I told you that then too. She’s a kid hard to hate.”

“Leader has changed a lot. Talking nonsense like this in front of the kids.”

Nyhill, feeling somewhat awkward being the topic of conversation, wiggled her toes.

For a while, we silently gazed out of the window, watching the rain pouring down.

Despite the bad weather, a considerable number of residents were briskly moving around the village.

Some were making consumables like stones and arrows as instructed, and leaders, including the self-defense force, were back on their feet, dedicated to training.

On the distant road, village women approached with baskets covered with waterproof cloths, containing fresh herbs and drinks for the warriors.

Nyhill, who had been quietly observing their faces, spoke up at that moment.

“I have a question.”

“Go ahead.”

“Even if they train for a few days and prepare for defense, their chances of survival won’t change significantly. They must be aware of that, so why are they so desperate?”

…There’s a reason.

However, as I pondered my response, an unexpected answer came from another source.

“It’s obvious.”

“…?”

“It’s because of blood ties.”

Both Nyhill and I turned our gaze to Noubelmag simultaneously.

He took a sip of beer, gazing at the villagers outside with a somber look.

“Those who could escape already did when the situation got bad. They are the ones for whom escape is impossible.”

“…Escape is impossible for them?”

“People with family members too young or too old, making it difficult to cross the dangerous wilderness for refuge.”

Noubelmag repeated.

“So, they endure this crazy rain because of blood ties. Can you understand that?”

“I don’t really know.”

“…Fair enough.”

…Blood ties.

Noubelmag, who had been quietly murmuring that word, suddenly stood up.

“…I should probably return to the mine. The work is piling up.”

The raindrops were gradually thinning.

It seemed like it would stop before evening.

I returned among the villagers, who were practicing diligently with Nyhill.

Amidst the panting sounds, occasional hearty cheers were mixed in.

.

.

.

…None of us imagined that Lonkers’ fence would collapse the next day.

HEL SCANS

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* * *

In the workshop of the mine, Nyhill was working with a hammer in front of a hot furnace.

It was her new task.

The intense heat and flames surrounding her, her face reddened, and sweat dripping down.

The reason she started handling a hammer was Noubelmag’s whim.

He noticed that she watched him work with curiosity every time he assigned her simple tasks.

It was curiosity about a field she had never experienced in her life.

‘…’

He recalled Nyhill’s background that he heard during the drinking session with the warrior.

The ghost of the dark division.

She must have only done ‘absolutely necessary tasks’ every day.

‘She probably hasn’t even experienced any kind of waste.’

So, he handed her the hammer, roughly explained the basics, and set up a workbench.

It was a whim, a diversion.

Clang!

As an amateur, Nyhill’s talent was not bad.

Her hands were precise, and she had strength.

Having grasped the basics, she often swung the hammer, cutting and bending metal.

Of course, the results of her work were not particularly impressive, but Nyhill seemed to enjoy the process.

Sparks occasionally flew from her black stone-like eyes.

‘It’s fascinating.’

…Creating something.

For her, who was always in a position to destroy, kill, and create a mess, it was a new experience.

Clang!

A steady metallic sound.

Listening to the sounds of hammer and anvil, her mind settled.

Lately, her head had been noisy with various thoughts, but now everything felt serene.

“…”

Noubelmag silently observed her.

It had been three days since he worked alongside Nyhill, providing guidance and assisting her as she continued the inexperienced hammering in front of the workbench.

Watching her work brought back an old memory.

‘…Daig.’

The toy hammer that he had given to his son since he took his first steps.

Daig seemed to enjoy it, thinking it was a game with his father.

When he first stood in front of a workbench, he sparkled with excitement at the shiny ore on the anvil.

That image was still vivid in his memory.

‘Since when did that smile disappear?’

He thought it was better to teach him sternly, expecting a lot.

In this crazy world, a mixed race hybrid needed skills to stand out.

He hoped Daig would become a skilled blacksmith, enjoying the pleasure of creating beautiful works, and one day surpassing himself as a renowned blacksmith.

But…

“Father.”

The son he met again at Lonkers after a long time was unrecognizable, huddled over.

Noubelmag instantly understood the reason.

It was the aftermath of manipulating a spirit much stronger than one’s capacity.

The repercussions had gnawed away at his son’s life.

“Why…”

Irreversibly.

‘Why…’

“Why did you aspire to manipulate a spirit that you couldn’t handle properly?”

What Daig challenged was a ‘Primitive spirit,’ something that he, at his level, could never handle.

A Primitive spirit was an existence formed when existing spirits reached the end of their lifespans or disappeared due to external forces.

Unlike regular spirits with consciousness, a Primitive spirit was a massive force incapable of communication until awakened.

It can be seen as the same as a natural disaster.

Especially the spirit in this mine was an immensely powerful Primitive spirit, challenging even Noubelmag’s ability to control.

‘Why…’

Did you take on such a reckless challenge?

Nouvelle Mag’s mouth was blocked when he tried to ask the reason.

“You know why.”

“…I’m sorry. I’m sorry, my son.”

A clumsy fist pounded on his robust chest.

It shouldn’t hurt, but it did.

…To the point where it still throbs sometimes.

Noubelmag lifted his head.

Nyhill’s hammer had stopped.

She looked at the finished work on the anvil with a bewildered expression.

“How is it?”

…How was it?

To Noubelmag, it seemed utterly crude.

If he had seen such a piece during his active duty, he would have immediately thrust it back into the furnace, along with its creator.

He contemplated for a moment before opening his mouth.

“Not bad… You did well.”

“Hehe, I’m glad.”

Nyhill nodded with a strangely proud expression.

Now, the next step was casting.

She approached the furnace but hesitated.

It was because she saw something on Noubelmag’s workbench.

“Noubelmag, may I ask a question?”

“What is it?”

“What is that?”

Noubelmag touched the ore on his workbench and replied,

“This is… spirit stone, a spirit stone.”

After scrutinizing the expression for a moment, Nyhill unexpectedly asked a sharp question.

“Did your son leave it behind?”

“…Yes.”

It was the correct answer.

This was a spirit stone that his son had started to work on, and Noubelmag completed it.

To create a spirit artifact, a spirit stone must be created by guiding a spirit into compatible ore.

Then, a weapon is crafted, and the spirit stone is fused into it to imbue it with power.

Thus, a spirit weapon with a ‘self’ is born—a powerful artifact that rivals those from the First Era.

In fact, Noubelmag had completed all the preparations for the final production.

That had been the case for the past six months.

The once-rampaging Primitive spirit had calmed down, and with the creation of a suitable weapon to infuse the spirit stone, everything would be finished.

However, Noubelmag hadn’t completed the work.

No, he intentionally left it unfinished, repeating the process of completing the weapon, breaking it, and melting it, as if searching for some flaw again and again.

His skill left no room for mistakes, but he repeated the process dozens of times.

“May I ask another question?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“What kind of person was he?”

He faced Nyhill, who was looking at him with an innocent expression.

“Daig was…”

The difficulty in answering the question pained him.

What kind of person was his son, Daig?

He couldn’t say for sure.

Looking back, he could only remember confronting him like a piece of work.

Like working on a piece, he hammered and melted him according to his desired shape, poured him into a predetermined mold, refined, and polished him.

If it didn’t please him, he ruthlessly brought down justice and a hammer.

Noubelmag looked at Nyhill again.

She gazed at him as if a machine was asking a question.

“He was similar to you.”

“….Yes?”

Noubelmag put the spirit stone back into his embrace.

Instead, he pulled out a pipe.

“Let’s stop here and go down to the village. It’s time to inspect the water artifacts.”

“Understood.”

It was a request from the Leader.

‘In the afternoon, I’ll finish the work entrusted by the Leader.’

As Noubelmag made this plan and gathered tools and materials with Nyhill, a sudden ringing interrupted them.

Dang-! Dang-!

Nyhill abruptly stopped.

Noubelmag looked at her with a puzzled expression.

“What’s the matter?”

Having been accustomed to the noisy sounds of the forge for a long time, Noubelmag wasn’t very good at hearing compared to the hybrids.

However, he soon realized the identity of the sound flowing through the noise of the busy work space.

It was the emergency alarm.

“Please stay here.”

Noubelmag, following Nyhill’s lead, dashed outside the mine to assess the situation.

He stared at Nyhill’s retreating figure, his chest uneasily throbbing.

HEL SCANS

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